


Ride the tiger

by keerawa



Series: Human Intelligence [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mission Fic, Post-Season/Series 03, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Moran make first contact with the Moriarty group.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ride the tiger

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/profile)[watsons_woes](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/) JWP 2015 Prompt #6: Then imitate the action of the tiger. Unbeta'd. Part five in the [Human Intelligence](http://archiveofourown.org/series/129723) series I began last July.

As John followed Moran into the pub where they were to meet their contact, the back of his neck tingled with the feel of unfriendly eyes. He found himself checking the rooftops behind them for snipers, and that was fine. Necessary, even.

Doctor Watson would never agree to work for Moriarty, or some syndicate pretending to be Moriarty. He would have to model himself on the special ops boys from Afghanistan. Not the good ones, who called in medevac choppers for wounded civilians and would apologize for swearing in front of the nurses. The bad ones, that the nurses knew to avoid. The ones who had gone a bit too far, seen a bit too much, who would sign up for another tour, and another, and then join up with any group of mercs who would have them.

Men like Moran.

It was dark inside the pub, the air thick with the smell of greasy pub food and beer. It was a local place; clearly not one where strangers were common, or welcome. John ignored the looks and slotted himself in behind Moran's shoulder, looking for exits and armed men. There, seated at a table in the back corner. Moran headed towards him.

"Jamie," Moran called out in a booming voice. "How's civilian life treating you?"

A lanky Irishman with a spackle of shrapnel scars across his cheek nodded. "Better lately, Seb. Now ... you're always welcome, but I don't recall your invite having a +1 on it." He glanced at John and stiffened in recognition. "Or is this more of a welcome back present?"

John didn't try to be subtle about resting his hand on the butt of his weapon.

Moran grinned. "Nah. Johnnie here's a mate. He's got himself in a bit of a hole, back in the world, you know how it is. Could use a job, and he's got some unique … access, should make the boys upstairs very happy to have him on-side."

Jamie sat back, considering. "He'll need to prove himself." A nasty little smile bloomed on his face. "And I've got just the errand. Might get a bit messy. You wouldn't mind that, would you Johnnie?" He stared challengingly at John.

John's stomach curdled, even as a part of him thrilled at the thought. It was the latter part he listened to. "Fucking finally," John said, sitting down at the table across from Jamie. "The closest I've got to action in the past few months is rubbing my pregnant wife's feet, and Moran here had me thinking I had nothing to look forward to but a milk run." He leaned forward, picked up the half-full pint glass in front of Jamie, and looked him in the eye. "You've got something more interesting on offer?" He took a gulp of the Guinness. "I'm in."

Jamie barked a laugh. "You always did know how to pick 'em, Seb. Next round's on you, Johnnie."

John settled back onto the wooden bench with a smile, and wondered what the fuck he'd just gotten himself into.


End file.
